


The Planetmakers

by agent85



Series: 52 Stories in 52 Weeks [45]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Creation Myth, F/M, Outer Space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:32:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9883217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: The story of Fitz, Simmons, and the creation of the cosmos.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to week fifty of my [52 short stories in 52 weeks challenge](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/52)! This week's prompt: a creation myth.

I will tell you that in the beginning, he thought he was alone.

He looked out into the void and saw nothing but his own hands, his own body, alone in the emptiness of existence. He didn't know that his cry would send shockwaves through reality, giving birth to the universe itself. He only opened his eyes and saw space expanding before him, stretching up, down, and everywhere. He looked at his hands and wondered if they could do things, too.

They were crude at first, the things that he made to fill the space. His heart was hard as rock and made rock, cold like ice and made ice. He could crumble the rock into dust or grow it into a moon, but there was nothing else in him. This is what he made to fill the universe. 

He grew rock into something as big as a planet and watched as the comets danced, drawn to their elder brothers by invisible strings. He wondered why he had no brothers of his own.

He wondered why no one was drawn to him. 

But the universe kept expanding, and he couldn't bear to see it empty. He kept making them, planets, comets, and moons. And if this was all life was, if he would just keep filling the unfillable space with things that could never fill his heart, he didn't know why the universe couldn't just collapse back on itself and swallow him up.

The universe, however, had an answer for him. I'm sure you have seen the answers the universe gives, by the ebb and flow of the tide, by death and birth and death. The universe spins things around, around, around until it comes back with new meaning. And since it did not want its maker to roll it up like a scroll, it did so with the planets, spinning them back to him. He did not care to see them until he noticed that they were more than what he made them to be.

They had a softness about them that he did not understand, for the ice had melted into rivers that carved up rocks into mountains. The dust, too, soaked up the water and swelled into earth. And since he could not do this himself, he knew there must be someone else.

He followed the trail of planets back, back, back, seeing that each of them were shaped by this unknown hand. He traveled to the edge of existence before he found her, dancing with the planets.

She stopped when she saw him and smiled so brightly that he thought his heart would melt.

"Who are you?" she asked.

He saw how her smile grew mischievous, and he looked to the left, to the right, seeing planets and moons, but no one else she could be talking to.

"I make the planets," he said.

But she shook her head, still smiling. "No," she said, "we do it together."

She watched him for a while, but when he had nothing to say, she continued.

"Thank you," she said, "for sending these to me. I thought I was all alone here."

He coughed, remembering how cold his life had been.

"So did I."

"Well then," she said, and he never knew that eyes could dance, "let's see what we can make together."

It wasn't until she took his hand that he felt her warmth run through him. He soaked it up like the dust did to water, turning into something else. She looked down at their hands with a curiosity that made him wonder if it changed her, too.

He decided it was best to stand beside her as they continued with creation, dressing up planets with rings and oceans. If she drifted closer to him, he pretended only to notice that they could somehow do more. It was when they sat next to each other, his hand in hers and her head on his shoulder, that he felt the invisible pull of her lips, and they both learned how to make a star. 

I'm sure you know how the story goes from here; all love stories, after all, are the same. And they still go on to this day, as any cosmic lovers would, making solar systems, galaxies, and us. He fortifies the ground with stones and metals, she blankets the continents with trees and vines, and together, they breathe life into all that is. That is how we were made, my darling. That is how all things came to be. You were not just made by love, but the making of you grew the love that brought everything else into being. You are not alone because they know the bitterness of being alone. They have given you a chance to love and be loved so you will know the joy in it that they do.

They are still young in their love, I expect. Even as we, their children, grow old in ours. I am sure he sits with her even now, under a canopy of shooting stars and super novas, holding her hand in his.

Even now, I'm sure he turns to her and says, "let's see what we can make together."

And she answers by giving him a star.

**Author's Note:**

> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


End file.
